


Christmas with the Potters

by goldensnitch18



Series: Oblivious Daydreaming [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, D/Hr Advent 2017, F/M, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensnitch18/pseuds/goldensnitch18
Summary: Pansy has married Harry Potter, and Draco is spending the holidays with them and Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger. He's going to need a lot of Firewhisky and a little bit of luck to survive.





	Christmas with the Potters

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest love and gratitude to oblivionbaby for her beta love. <3

Everyone on the street wore layers upon layers, guarding themselves as much as possible from the sort of cold that burned when it touched your skin—everyone, that is, except one well tailored man walking with purpose through the crowd. He wore thick, textured, black gloves that favored leather but seemed to have small, shining scales peppering the surface. His coat, customized for his precise measurements and adorned with a silk scarf, moved with his body as if part of his skin. His blonde hair blew in the biting breeze as he took one measured step after another, the snap of his black leather shoes hitting the stones following behind him. 

Without acknowledging another person along the way, the man slipped into an alley in which he did not belong. With a crack and a turn, he vanished without arousing the suspicion of a single clueless Muggle. They saw what they wanted to see, not wanting to know a man might vanish in the streets of London and appear hundreds of miles away outside a cottage covered in snow. 

A man leaned against the porch railing; his messy black hair, falling around his head without purpose. “You look like an ass.” He held a cigarette between his fingers as he looked at the blonde from sharp green eyes behind black rectangular frames. 

“Some of us have to work, Potter,” he sneered back. He pulled free his hands from the dragonhide gloves, folding them before placing them in his pockets. 

“I work,” Harry shrugged. 

“Oh, yes, raising up the next generation of little heroes.” 

The burgundy door of the cottage opened, and a beautiful woman with long black hair and crimson lips stood there, glass of wine in hand. “Are you two already fighting?” 

“Only saying hello, Pans,” Potter told her. She rolled her eyes and glared at her husband. 

“You told me you're quitting,” she chided. 

Harry shrugged, staring out at the vast snow beyond the house. Harry and Pansy bought it six months ago when they married in secret over summer holidays after screwing around at Hogwarts for two years prior. The revelation did not shock Draco, nor the news of the isolated house with excessive land far away from neighbors.

“Do you have anything stronger than that?” Draco asked, motioning to her glass. 

“Of course, I do. The princess is coming.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” Harry called after her as Pansy disappeared into the house, ignoring him.  
Draco followed her, shutting the door as he entered. His coat slipped off in a fluid motion, and he hung it in the small closet by the front door before slipping off his shoes. Despite the location being a perfect fit, Pansy agreeing to live in such a small home surprised Draco. The cottage held three bedrooms; a small suite on the main floor and two smaller rooms up a set of stairs. Draco was sure the entire house would fit in her former rooms at the Parkinson’s, making it a far cry from what his friend was used to. 

“I put your things in your room,” she told him when he entered the kitchen as she poured firewhisky into a small glass. 

“I can stay at home and come back in the morning,” he told her. 

“I’ll murder you myself if you try. She’s only in the country for three days, and she’s spending them all here. Maybe I should kill myself instead.” Pansy took a long pull of her wine. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have married Potter, and you wouldn’t have to spend your holidays with her.” 

“I like his cock,” she snapped, and he ignored her, drinking whiskey instead. He would need it. Three days in this house with Potter, Pansy, and her would likely kill him. 

“And, Weasley?” Draco asked. 

“He’ll be here tomorrow night. Christmas with his family, of course.” 

“Are you going over there?”

“Harry wants me to for a little while, but I don’t really see the point of going only to be reminded I stole him away.” 

“They weren’t together,” Draco reminded her for the hundredth time. As easy as he accepted their elopement, others struggled with the news. Potter broke his relationship off with the female Weasley with an assumption they would get back together after some time apart.Unfortunately for Ginny, Pansy taught Ancient Runes that year, and McGonagall had appointed Potter to help her adjust to the new position, which evidently included fucking and falling in love with her as they bonded over their dark and twisty natures. 

“They're meant to be,” Pansy took another sip of wine. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Draco asked her, but she only shrugged as Potter rounded the corner into the kitchen. He moved towards Pansy as if drawn to her, his hand falling to her lower back as his other lifted the firewhisky to pour his own glass. 

“Please, don't stop talking on my account,” he told the pair. 

“You shouldn't try to make me go spend Christmas with your ex-girlfriend.” 

“I'm not stupid enough to imagine I'd ever be able to make you do anything. I asked you to go visit with me.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes and lifted her glass again. Draco felt sure her insecurities were playing with her mind, trusting nothing good would last, wondering deep down how Harry Potter would ever want someone as fucked up as Pansy when he could have a real family that loved and doted on him for once in his life instead.

As one of his only remaining friends from before, Pansy remained family. He had had a choice but to get over the past with Potter. They had done this throughout an evening of excessive drinking and sharing which they had never spoken of again. Draco hoped Potter had sense enough not to tell Pansy about what he had said that night, what he had apologized for.

“Hello?” 

Three heads turned towards the door. Harry headed back into the living room, followed by Pansy making a face behind his back.

Draco carried his whiskey into the room and stopped to lean against the doorway. Hermione Granger stood in the entry way, her arms tight around Potter’s neck as they embraced. 

“Missed you,” she told him. 

“Always,” he said back. 

As she pulled back from him, she tugged at her gray gloves, removing them from her hands before unwrapping her matching scarf. She shook her hair which fell down around her shoulders, frizzing out madly from being restrained under a hat. Harry took her things and moved over to the closet to grab a hanger as she removed her coat. She wore jeans and a black jumper, a bit of a burgundy showing from beneath it. 

“Hey, Pansy,” Hermione said, her smile highlighting her rosy, wind chapped cheeks. “Thanks for letting me stay.” 

“Of course,” Pansy told her, smiling back a top rate fake-genuine smile. She had been trained so well; her mother would be proud. 

“How was your trip?” Harry asked. He waved his wand at her bags, and they vanished, presumably to the third bedroom. 

“Good. I'm glad to be here,” she told him. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Pansy asked, lifting her own glass. Hermione looked over at Draco for the first time, eyeing his glass. 

“Sure. I'll take some firewhisky.” 

“I'll get it,” Draco told them, turning back into the kitchen. Rummaging through the cupboards as the sounds of chatter drifted in from the other room, he found a glass and poured the amber liquid. He stood in the kitchen for a few seconds, realizing how ridiculous this day was.He never could have imagined spending a holiday like this. 

XXX

He tried to settle, to find a good spot in the bed, to not think about the rest of the house, but it proved impossible. Each moment seemed to last a century. It had been a long day before he had even arrived at the cottage, and the dynamic the four of them created exhausted him, and left him on guard, always triple checking every word before it left his mouth. 

 

Finally, he gave up staying in bed, instead, pacing the floor, moving from side to side as he waited. He was so damn tired of waiting. Twenty long days had passed since the weekend in Spain. He had snuck out of London for an extended weekend. They had spent nearly every moment naked in her bed, trying to imprint as many memories as possible to tide them over, but it was never enough.

Hermione Granger existed to be his sweet, disastrous addiction. Chances were that she would be the death of him somehow, but for now, he enjoyed the high she gave him with each touch of her fingers and graze of her lips against his. 

It started in the spring. Pansy insisted they all go out for her birthday. Harry insisted it be somewhere Muggle, so it didn’t end up in the Prophet. Somehow a large group of their friends ended up visiting Spain—and Hermione—over the Hogwarts break. The trip was fine. Draco stayed in a hotel his parents had taken him to before, working in the room most of the weekend. He extended the trip into the week in to visit a few investments while already in the country. Once their friends left, Hermione demanded that he eat dinner with her Monday evening as if he would starve otherwise. He went to her flat in Seville, and she prepared pasta and salad.

“Thank you,” he told her as they cleared the table. “This was good.” 

“I hate cooking, so don't get used to it,” she teased. He looked up at her, trying not to let the fleeting fantasies of a lonely, hardworking, single man who needed to go home show on his face.

“We could always get takeout,” his stupid mouth said, betraying the inkling of himself that had been, for months now, acknowledging that Hermione Granger was an intelligent, pretty woman—the type of woman he would ask out in a heartbeat if things were different. 

Hermione grabbed the cloth beside the counter, drying her hands. He watched carefully, not sure if he should leave now, if he had destroyed the tentative friendship they formed as a result of their best friends' relationship. She set down the cloth before turning back to him, leaning against the counter. “So, dinner again tomorrow?” she asked. 

Draco eyed her carefully considering his options, weighing the probability that she would slap him if he stepped wrong. He took a step towards her. She unconsciously scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, and he stopped caring about probabilities. He was one-hundred percent sure that tasting her would be worth any repercussions she may dish out if he had misunderstood. 

He took another step, just inches from her, and she reached out with one hand, resting her fingers and then her palm against his chest. He thought for a moment she would push him away, but her fingers twisted, gripping his cashmere sweater as she pulled. One hand started at her hip, climbing up under her shirt to touch the warm skin of her lower back as the other settled at the back of her neck, bringing her closer. She tasted like red wine and everything his life had been missing until this moment. 

“How about I cook you breakfast?” he asked. From that moment on, he had never stopped kissing her as often as she, and their schedules, would let him. 

It wasn’t that they were lying about it. It was just that no one had ever asked if they were together, and thus they never had a reason to answer the question. It would be a nightmare when the press got wind of it, not to mention how their friends might take it, but Draco's give-a-damn was quickly disappearing. 

Finally, when he was about to go find Hermione himself, the bedroom door opened. She was there in front of him, grinning stupidly like a teenager sneaking out. Draco crossed the floor between them as the door clicked, and she met him in a greedy kiss. He let his hungry hands roam her body through the silky fabric, wishing for it to be gone already. “I almost jumped you on the couch,” he told her. 

“I missed you so much,” she agreed as he lifted her and backed towards the bed. She was kissing his neck, her breath hot against his skin. His cock was growing hard, desperate for her. 

“Hermione,” he whispered, and she let out a soft sound of satisfaction at the sound of her name on his lips. They fell back onto the bed, and she shifted to settle a knee to each side of him. She pulled at the ties of her dressing gown, but Draco pushed her hands away to do it himself. He almost came just from the vision of her naked flesh underneath. It had been three torturous weeks since she last graced him with this perfect sight. “Fuck. You’re beautiful,” he told her. 

She dipped down to kiss him, but he saw the embarrassment rising in her cheeks. He pushed the cloth down her arms as she kissed him. She undressed him then, starting with his shirt and rushing his pants and trousers down to the floor. He felt her move back in place, and this time, she was bare against him. His cock settled in next to her thigh, itching to burrow inside if her. She wrapped him in her hand, stroking him several times before she pushed up on her knees, positioned him beneath her and sank down with a long, slow dip of her thighs to the bed. 

“Draco,” she mumbled, and a hand moved to her breast, tweaking her nipple. He watched in fascination as she played with her body as she rode him. Her second hand dipped between them, her fingers on her clit. It took all of his willpower not to put his hands on her hips and guide her into a quicker tempo. It was her turn to lead the show—she had made that clear—so he palmed her ass and thighs instead, moving them across her skin, just glad to have her close to him again.

She made soft noises as she moved, no doubt enjoying the steady rhythm her fingers were keeping as she tortured him with painfully slow movements along his cock. The sensation was incredible. There was no where else in the world he would rather be than under Hermione Granger when she was naked and dancing on his cock. There was nothing more amazing than the pure bliss he would experience when they finished, and she was in his arms, spent. She would settle her palm on his chest, kiss him, and drift to sleep in his arms, and he would stay awake as long as he could wondering how in the fuck he had ever fixed his life so much that Hermione would allow him to speak to her, let alone fall in love with her.

He hadn't told her, though he suspected she knew, but he'd never said the words, not when she was awake, not when she could hear them. He practiced in the dead of night while she slept, the world was dark, and he could be vulnerable for just a few moments. 

“I love you,” he would whisper, just once, just to hear the words leave his lips, just to know he was capable of them. It needed to be special when he told her. It needed to be clear how much he was telling her, what he was giving her.

XXX

“Happy Christmas,” Ron told her. Hermione hugged him tight, and Draco saw his lips touch her cheek for the briefest moment. It was nothing.

They had both moved on years ago, but Ron had been her first. Ron had been there when Draco was a dick in school, and when they were fighting the war, and when she was putting her life back together afterwards. When she said she thought she wanted to travel, to experience creature rights in different places around the world, Ron encouraged her, sure she would be brilliant. But all of that must still mean something to her. Even if it no longer remained a romantic link, a whole life together wasn't something you just set aside when you break up. But, Draco couldn't talk because the girl he lost his virginity to was currently married to Harry Potter. 

“Happy Christmas, Ron,” Hermione told him.

“Drink, Weasley?” Draco asked. He thought he might be starting to act like a drunk, but alcohol was needed for tonight. He couldn't remember any longer why he had agreed to this madness. The evenings guests were all old friends from school, but that was worse than some large nonsense at the Ministry. Too many connections in one house. 

“Sure. Firewhisky?” he asked. 

“Got it,” Draco told him, and disappeared into the kitchen. Daphne was sitting on the counter, a glass in her hands. 

“How did we get here, Draco?” she asked. Christmas with the damn Gryffindor heroes. 

“It's Pansy's fault,” he assured her. 

“Touche.” She sipped at the red liquid and then tilted her head as if thinking. Draco poured Weasley’s whiskey. “Draco?” 

“What?” he asked. 

“What do you think of Neville? I've been trying to figure out if he's fit as fuck under all that tweed and corduroy, or if I'm mad.” She sighed as if imagining Neville’s fit ass, and Draco grimaced. 

“You're mad,” he told her. 

“I'll ask Hermione. Maybe she's seen him without all that Professor shit on.” Daphne waggled her eyebrows, and Draco tried not to glower as he left the room with the two glasses. 

“Here,” he told Weasley, pushing the drink at him. 

“You seem happy, Malfoy,” Ron commented as he took it. 

“I was just asked if I think Neville Longbottom is fit as fuck.” Draco took a long pull of his drink as Hermione laughed—snorted—beside him. 

“Well,” she asked, “what did you say?” 

“I think he better keep his tweed and corduroy on when I'm around.” 

“Can't stop dreaming about him either?” Daphne asked, appearing behind him. 

“Oh, great.” 

“So, what do you think Hermione?” Daphne settled in next to the other woman and tilted her head again, this time looking right at Longbottom’s ass.

“Oh, he's fit as fuck,” Ron told them, laughing. 

“I knew it,” Daphne said triumphantly. “I wonder if he wants company for Christmas.” 

“Who wouldn't want someone at Christmas?” Hermione asked. 

“I don't know. Single life is decent. Isn't it Malfoy?” 

Draco shrugged at Weasley’s question. 

“One day it would be nice to have that,” Daphne told them, and they all followed her gaze. Pansy was sitting beside Harry on their love seat. He rubbed circles into the back of her hand as they talked to Longbottom and Luna, who drove Pansy absolutely crazy. With no worry at all about who was watching them or what they would think, Potter leaned down to kiss her head as she spoke. 

Draco turned his eyes away, trying not to see the pain and longing in Hermione's face.

XXX

She had told him to wait until after midnight, because it wasn't Christmas until midnight, but he struggled to obey her wishes. The moment it was time, he left his room, passed the small bathroom, and pushed the door to Hermione's room open. “Holy fuck,” he said, and she shushed him as she laughed. 

“Shut the door or the charm won't work,” she whispered. Draco obliged, refusing to take his eyes away from her as he did. 

She was in fishnets. 

Hermione fucking Granger in black fucking fishnets over glittery green heels. The tights attached to suspenders. The bodysuit was silver and sliced down the center with a deep v that dipped below her navel. 

“Holy Fuck,” he said again, as he took in the sight of a Slytherin tie loose around her neck; he prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that it was his, that she had stolen it from his apartment. 

“You like it?” she asked, flushing again, and he stared open mouthed, unable to articulate the level of pain she was causing him. She had never in eight months worn anything this - whatever the hell it was. 

“Tell me the name of the shop, and I'll buy you one for each day of the week.” 

Hermione laughed at him and uncrossed her legs on the bed. He realized that her knickers wouldn't need removing, and his cock throbbed. 

“It won't be special if I wear it every day.”

“I promise you, it will be,” he moved forward, and she shook her head. “Strip first, Draco.” 

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled off his shirt in one go and shoved down his pants and trousers before starting towards her again. 

“Do me a favor?” she asked. 

“What?” he asked, sure beyond a doubt he would do whatever she asked of him.

“Grab that ribbon there.” She pointed towards the desk, and he picked up the small piece of black ribbon from it. He could tell right away that there was magic in it, and his excitement built. 

“Come here,” she told him. 

Draco climbed on the bed, ribbon in hand. 

Hermione lay beneath him, her curls going every which way. “Draco,” she told him. 

“Yes?” he asked. 

“I trust you implicitly,” she whispered, and he looked confused for a moment as she pulled her hands up above her head. “Incipio,” she whispered. The ribbon in his hand quivered and stretched and then broke into pieces. 

“Hermione,” he said, disbelieving. The ribbon wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tying each limb to the bed. Draco stared at her, sprawled before him, her teeth sucking in her lip again. Nervous. She was fucking nervous of whether he would like her gift. 

He sat before her, naked and confused for a minute while she tried not to squirm. He tried to decide what to do, and then he knew, without a doubt. He leaned forward and pulled the tie from her neck. She arched up into him, and it took everything he had not to bury himself in her then. It would have been so easy. Instead, he instructed her to lift her head and wrapped the silk tie over her eyes, blindfolding her. He moved off the bed then, heading back to his trousers to grab his wand. 

He summoned a small amount of the water in the glass at her bedside table out into the air and transfigured it into ice before popping the cube into his mouth. Hermione was squirming, growing impatient. 

Draco climbed back between her legs, bracing himself with an elbow at either side of her torso, and kissed her skin as he ran the ice cube up from her navel to the dip between her breasts. Hermione gasped and arched again in reaction to the cold against her skin. Draco moved to his left, using his teeth to pull the small bit of lace to the side of her pink nipple. He rocked his cock against her thigh as his mouth descended, claiming her nipple into its icy depths. Hermione moaned as the ice ran across her flesh and pulled gently at the ribbon holding her. 

Draco moved back down, sliding the ice up the other mound of perfect flesh to suck at her nipple until it was erect and cold. Hermione rocked her hips into him, and he worked hard to keep his control over his body. He would not waste this present on a quick shag. She was too fucking precious for that. 

Draco dragged the bit of ice left down to her navel. By the time he scooted back, lifting her ass into his hands, the ice melted, but his mouth was freezing. He breathed against her bare cunt, and she squirmed again. “Draco, fuck, this is supposed to be your present,” she demanded. 

“Oh, this is my present.” His tongue dove deep inside of her. Licking at her core, spreading the chill wherever he could until unable to resist the draw of her clit. He sucked at the small nub and twisted circles with his tongue. Hermione whimpered and cursed above him, her legs struggling against the ribbons she had restrained them in. His finger ran along the straps of her suspenders and down the fishnet as he sucked her with his tongue.

“Oh my god” she muttered. “Oh my god. Fuck. Draco.” Hermione twisted, as if she might try to escape the orgasm she was teetering on. Grabbing her ass, he held her in place until she was writhing into his mouth, a mess of yes’s amidst murmurs of his name. He pulled back, moving from the bed, and wiped his mouth. 

She was the vision of a goddess, her hair mad and her body lax as she recovered, her cheeks flushed with passion. Draco reached down to stroke his cock a few times as he watched her, and something about her vulnerability reminded him of the moment downstairs when she had looked at Pansy and Potter and wanted it to be them. 

“How do I stop it?” he asked. 

“What?” she asked, surprised. 

He climbed onto the bed and unwrapped the tie from her eyes. 

“How?” 

“Insisto." She watched him as the ribbon uncoiled and freed her. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I'm fine,” he said. He kissed her softly, hoping that he could convey the emotion and energy which ran through his blood, but not having the words. 

“Draco…” 

He moved over her, still placing soft kisses on her skin. He slid inside of her with slow determination, and then he met her eyes, which had filled with concern, but he couldn't answer. He made love to her with gentle thrusts, his hands and lips caressing her each moment, worshiping her with his body in a way his words could not. 

XXX

“Your turn,” Harry told Hermione. She looked at her small pile of gifts and lifted the smallest box into her hands. It was covered in silver paper with a black silk ribbon bow. There was no marking of the giver on the outside, but she must realize it was from him. Hermione glanced at him quickly before she began to untie the ribbon with slow, purposeful movements, intent on torturing him as his heartbeat raced within his chest. She dropped the tie into her lap and began on the paper. Each move was meticulous, pulling each bit away with painful attention. Pansy rolled her eyes at Draco, but he couldn't bother to feign a reaction back. All of his attention was on Hermione’s fingers as the paper fell away to reveal the small box in her hands. She looked up nervously at him.

“Come on,” he told her.

“It's yours?” Pansy asked, and again he ignored her. 

“Fine.” Hermione laughed and pulled the top of the box away from the bottom. Her laugh fell into sudden silence the moment she saw what was inside. “Draco,” she whispered. 

“You can think about it,” he blurted.

She set down the lid, her hand shaking as it moved back to lift out a loop of the same silk ribbon which had held the box shut. 

“What's going on?” Potter asked. They both ignored him. Draco stared at Hermione as she stared at the small key dangling from the ribbon. 

“You love your job, and I have mine, but I hate only seeing you every few weeks.” 

“Draco,” she said, her eyes on his. He moved closer to her, putting his hand on her leg. 

“Holy fuck,” Pansy said. 

“If you don't like my place ...” 

“Draco,” Hermione tried to cut in, but he kept talking, needing her to understand. 

“Or, I'll move to Spain. I'm sure you weren't expecting this, and we haven't talked about it, but…” He leaned in, his forehead touching hers, drawing the memory of every time he had whispered the words to her when she was fast asleep. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Harry gaped in shock. “What—” 

“I can't believe you assholes!” Pansy shouted. 

“Draco, I quit my job.” Hermione told him. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I quit. I told them I wasn't coming back. I didn't want you to be pressured if you weren't ready for more, but I quit to move home and see if …" 

“What the fuck is happening?” Harry asked. 

Draco didn't care. He buried his fingers in Hermione’s crazy hair and kissed her right there in front of their best friends. 

“I love you, too,” she told him.

“I hate you both,” Pansy snapped. “Biggest set of lying asses I've ever met.” 

“Move in then?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. He pulled her closer, and she dropped the key as she moved her arms around him. 

XXX

The man had her back against the brick wall, kissing her madly as his fingers gripped her out of control hair. His own hair was disheveled, flying about in the wind as his coat did the same. One glove was shoved into his coat pocket and the other had fallen to the ground of the alley. He didn’t seem to notice or care that it was missing. 

“Home,” the woman mumbled against his lips. “Home,” she said again, an urgent need conveyed through one word. 

The man grumbled, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, leaving the forgotten glove behind. As he walked, his cheeks glowed with the cold, and his lips curved up into a smile.


End file.
